


Cheating the Devil

by StrongAndBitter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 08:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13243971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrongAndBitter/pseuds/StrongAndBitter
Summary: Goes AU after Sam calls Dean at the beginning of The End. The angels don't send Dean forward to 2014, but that doesn't mean there won't be life changing consequences.





	Cheating the Devil

Bobby stared out the window, waiting for the mail to arrive, and thinking. He didn’t like the way the things were going between the Winchester boys. Dean was convinced that keeping Michael’s vessel and Lucifer’s vessel as far apart as possible was the right idea. Bobby wasn’t so sure. The last time he had talked to Sam the boy sounded lost, bordering on desperate. In a way, Bobby understood where they were both coming from. Both of them were scared, both trying to do the right thing, both drowning in guilt and second guessing. But he still wished he could stand so that he could get high enough to knock their heads together. Bobby had no idea how to stop the apocalypse or how to kill Lucifer, but he sure as hell knew that the boys working apart was like each of them working with an arm tied behind their back. 

The sound of the mail truck coming down the lane drew his attention, and he rolled to the door to open it. He had an arrangement with the mailman since his legs stopped working to bring the mail to the house – getting down to the mailbox was rather a pain in the ass. “Morning, Bobby,” said Matt Jeffries, the middle aged mailman. 

“Morning, Matt,” Bobby responded gruffly. “Anything look good?”

Matt handed over the stack. “Bills, ads, the usual. Might be a letter in there, not sure who from.”

“Thanks, Matt. Same time tomorrow?”

“You know it, Bobby,” Matt replied. He waved and climbed into his truck, turning back out toward the main road. 

Bobby rolled back into his house and shut the door. He maneuvered his chair over to his desk and tossed the mail on it. He sorted through it, chucking the junk straight into the trash until he came to a plain envelope addressed to him in familiar looking handwriting. There was no return address, but he knew Sam’s scrawl from long association. Kid was crazy smart, but had handwriting like a deranged chicken. Frowning, he opened the letter and began reading.

_Dear Bobby,  
By the time you get this letter, I will probably be dead._

“What the hell…?” Bobby whispered. Dread crept into his heart as he kept reading.

_I screwed up. I know I did. And now, Lucifer wants me as his vessel. He says that eventually I’ll say yes. I told him I’d rather die. He said he’d bring me back if I tried. But I think I’ve found a way to escape. I’ve found an abandoned cabin, way out in the middle of nowhere. Coordinates are below. I’ve warded it up against angels, demons, witches, psychics – anything and everything. That’s where you’ll find my body. Please, I’m begging you, send someone to salt and burn my corpse. Make sure I can’t come back – that no one can bring me back. Don’t send Dean – I don’t want him to see this. Let him think I just disappeared and don’t want to be found, or whatever. I don’t want to let him down anymore._  
_I’m sorry about this, Bobby. I know this is going to hurt you too, and I’m sorry. You’ve always been a father to me, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. This is just my way to make things right._  
_Sam_

At the bottom of the letter were the coordinates, starkly denoting the last resting place of the late Sam Winchester. Bobby dropped the letter on the table and covered his face with his hand. _Jesus, son, I shouldn’t have let you go out on your own._

After a while Bobby composed himself and moved over to his computer. He plugged in the coordinates and found that the location was in the middle of Ouachita National Forest in Oklahoma. He looked at the postmark on the letter – Gerber, Oklahoma, 2 days ago. With shaking hands he fished out his cell phone. He stared at it for a while, weighing Sam’s words against his own judgement. “Fuck it. Sorry, Sam.” With a heavy heart he dialed Dean’s phone.

After a few rings, Dean picked up. “Yeah?” He sounded like he had just woken up.

“Dean, it’s Bobby.”

Dean sat up in his bed. It had been a week since he had last spoken to Bobby, right after he had reiterated to his brother the need for the two of them to stay apart. But something in Bobby’s voice made him take notice. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I… I got a letter from Sam this morning.”

Dean sighed. “Look, Sam and I, we need to go our own ways. I explained this already. There’s nothing he can…”

“Dean, it’s a suicide note.” Bobby’s words dropped out like stones and there was a long silence.

Dean’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “Come again?” he stammered when he finally recovered.

“He… said he couldn’t…” Bobby choked up and couldn’t continue.

“Bobby, what did it say?” Dean snapped, his control rapidly slipping. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up, pacing the room and running a frantic hand through his hair.

Bobby read the letter to Dean with a broken voice, and as the painful words went on and on Dean gradually sank into a chair. His green eyes were wide with shock and filling with tears and his expression was one of horror. “…just my way to make things right. Sam.” Bobby finished. There was nothing but silence on the other end. “Dean? Are you still with me?”

“Oh, God,” Dean gasped. “He wouldn’t… oh, God.” Dean’s mind raced with desperate thoughts. _He couldn’t have. Sammy, I never meant…_ “Where are those coordinates?” he demanded.

“Dean, you should take someone with you. Come get me, or find Cas or…”

“Where is he?” Dean roared, control gone completely. “Give me the fucking coordinates.”

“Dean, the letter was from two days ago. If he was going to do anything, he’d have done it already.”

“Bobby,” Dean pleaded, his voice cracking. “Just tell me where to find my brother, okay?”

Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Alright.” He read off the coordinates to Dean, who scribbled them down and then hung up without another word. With tears running down his face, Bobby gently hung up the phone and reached into the desk drawer for a bottle of whiskey.

Dean took a grand total of five minutes to gather all of his stuff and throw it in the Impala before roaring out of the parking lot of that night’s hotel. At the first stoplight he programmed the coordinates into the GPS on his phone and turned on the navigation. He drove in silence, white knuckling the steering wheel. His mind ran on endless loops of false hopes. _Maybe he thought better of it. Maybe he just wanted us off his scent. Maybe this is just a cry for help._ Dean wanted to believe that he would find this cabin and his brother would be inside, doing his emo thing. However, his hopeful thoughts kept being interrupted by the running tape loop of his last conversation with Sam playing over and over in his mind.

_It turns out that you and me, we’re the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. On that basis alone we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good._  
And then he had just hung up on him. Said goodbye like he was talking to a stranger. Dismissed Sam from his life just like that. _Please, don’t let that be our last conversation. God, please let me have a chance to take those words back. I’m begging you._

It took him 3 hours to get to the edge of the National Forest. He followed the GPS navigation down a dirt road that led to an even narrower dirt road. He winced at the sound of branches scraping against Baby’s paint, but more out of habit than anything. The road finally came to a bit of a clearing with a dirty old red pickup parked in it. Dean put the Impala in park and got out, reaching instinctively for his gun. Looking around he saw no one in the clearing or the nearby woods. He searched the truck, but it was empty. He did notice the ignition wires were hanging loose. The truck had most likely been hotwired. It was definitely the type of car Sam would have lifted.

Dean closed the Impala’s door, checked his gun, and started hiking into the woods. The GPS signal was weak out here, but there was a fairly obvious, if overgrown, trail that led away from the clearing. He followed it cautiously, instinctively keeping a wary eye out for danger. After ten minutes a small, nearly derelict cabin rose in front of him. It seemed to be one room, with a chimney on one side and a small porch. The roof was bowed in the middle, and bushes and creepers had crowded the walls on all sides. The only sign that the cabin wasn’t completely abandoned was the freshly painted sigils on the door and the windows. Dean slowly walked up the stairs, dread building with every step. He paused with his hand on the door knob. After several deep breaths, he pushed the door open.

The smell of death hit his nostrils and his hand went up to his mouth. He slowly raised his head and saw him. Sam. He was lying in the middle of the floor on his back. His impossibly long legs and arms were splayed out, and his handgun was on the floor next to his right hand. His hazel eyes were open and staring and his head was surrounded by a pool of blood. The bullet hole in his chin and the splatters of red on the walls told the rest of the story. “No,” Dean said, shaking his head back and forth in horror. “No. Sammy. Oh no.” Looking over Sam’s bloody corpse Dean could picture how it went down.

_Sam walking into the empty cabin. Dropping a bag on the floor and kneeling down, pulling out a can of spray paint. Grim determination on his face as he went around the room painting sigils and demon traps of all types. Pulling out hex bags and setting them in the four corners of the room. Turning around to see that everything was in place. Standing in the center of the room. Taking his gun out. Closing his eyes. Putting the barrel to his chin. Taking one last breath. Pulling the trigger._

Dean barely made it outside before falling to his knees and vomiting. He retched again and again, one hand holding his stomach while the other held him up, shaking and gasping. _My fault. This is my fault._ His mind chanted this mantra over and over, and he deserved it. He deserved every ounce of pain and grief. _He begged to come back and I said no. I said no. He was hurting and he was scared and I turned my back on him._

Dean spent an eternity heaving and gasping. He finally got enough control to stagger to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Taking a deep breath he stared at the door of the cabin for a long moment. “Okay. Okay,” he muttered to himself. He turned away from the door that led to his dead brother and walked slowly back to the Impala. He fumbled with his keys, dropping them once before opening the trunk with his shaking hands, propping the false bottom of the trunk to get at the supplies underneath. The first thing he grabbed was a bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the cap and upended it, draining almost a quarter of the bottle in one long go. He staggered a bit, capped the bottle again, and grabbed a duffle bag. He tossed the whiskey in, followed by a long length of rope, an axe, and an old white sheet. Adding a can of kerosene and a can of salt to the bag he zipped it up, tossed it over his shoulder, and closed the trunk. He stared down at the glossy black surface for a long moment, his empty reflection staring back at him. He swallowed and shouldered his burden, heading slowly back to the cabin.

He paused with his hand on the door knob, steeling himself for the sight. He opened the door slowly, looking down at the floor, unwilling to raise his eyes to see Sam lying there. Cursing himself for a coward he forced himself to look at his brother’s body. He dropped the duffel bag and crossed the floor, finally sinking to his knees by Sam’s side. “I’m here Sammy,” he said, his voice breaking. He lost it completely then, his body convulsing with sorrow as he wept uncontrollably. Every harsh word he had said to Sam echoed in is head accusingly. _Stay away. Stay away. Stay away._ The pain and guilt were unbearable, choking him. He had no idea how long he sat there until his sobs trailed off as he forced himself to lift his eyes to his brother’s face. With shaking hands, he reached over and closed Sam’s staring eyes. He smoothed back his long hair, wincing at how cold Sam’s skin was. “I am so sorry, Sam,” he whispered brokenly. “Let you down again.”

Dean got up slowly, straightening his stiff legs and feeling like he had aged a decade. He stared down, trying to force himself to do what he needed to do. He had salted and burned hundreds of bodies. He had consigned his own father’s body to the flames. But the thought of wrapping up his little brother, tying rope around his body, putting it onto a pyre, and watching his whole life go up in smoke – it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

He thought back to Cold Oak, to the first time Sam had died on him. Bobby had tried to get him to bury Sam, or to burn him, and he hadn’t been able to do it. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of throwing dirt on his brother’s tanned skin. He hadn’t been able to wrap up that freakish tall form and set fire to it. The thought of years stretching out alone, with no one by his side had terrified him until the only solution was to drive to the crossroads.

_Doesn’t seem to be an option this time_ , Dean sighed inwardly. Sam had had one request, to save him from becoming Lucifer’s vessel. Dean couldn’t bring himself to deny Sam again. Nodding to himself, he turned and went over to his duffel. Slowly he pulled out the sheet and the length of rope. He made his way over to Sam again, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat. He gently straightened Sam’s legs and folded his arms on his chest. Moistening a bandana with holy water from his flask he gently cleaned his brother’s face, wiping the blood from around the bullet wound on his neck. He laid the sheet out on the ground, carefully avoiding the pool of blood that had congealed around Sam. Putting his arms under Sam he grimaced as he hefted Sam’s weight, struggling to maneuver him onto the sheet. He slowly wrapped the sheet around his brother, memorizing all the details of his brother’s form as it disappeared from view. He took a long last look at Sam’s face before covering it as well. Grimly he started tying ropes, hands working on automatic as he bound the corpse. After he finished the last knot he stood, looking down at his handiwork. Another tear splashed onto the wrapped form as he struggled with control.

He bent over and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the bag, taking another long, long drink. Capping up the bottle again, his eye caught a small table in the corner of the room. There was a white envelope on the dusty surface that he hadn’t noticed before. Staggering slightly, he made his way across the room. His hand trembled a bit as he picked up the unlabeled envelope and opened it. Inside was a note and another envelope. The note read: _To whom it may concern: Please deliver this envelope to my brother, Dean Winchester._ Bobby’s address was scrawled below. He fished out the other envelope, which had his name written neatly across the front.

He pulled the paper from the envelope, clutching the letter with one hand and the bottle of whiskey with the other. The words swam on the page as he backed up against the wall, sinking down to the ground. He uncapped the whiskey again, the cap skittering unnoticed on the ground as he took in his brother’s words.

_Dean,_  
_I’m sorry it had to be like this. God, I wish there was another option. But I can’t see any other way. I can’t let Lucifer turn me into a weapon. He says he’s going to bring me back and I can’t risk it. I won’t._  
_I’ve let you down, Dean. Again and again I’ve disappointed you and failed you. My biggest sin in this life has been how many times I’ve let you down. You were right to send me away. I’ll never be anything but a burden and a hindrance and a danger to you. With me gone, Lucifer has no vessel, and Michael has no one to fight. I am so sorry for all of this, but you’ve got to let me go, for both our sakes. Forgive me._  
_You’ll always be my brother._  
_Love,_  
_Sam_

The paper fluttered to his lap as he took another long pull at the whiskey bottle. He stared down at the paper, reading Sam’s words over and over. _You never let me down, Sam. How could you think that?_ Tears kept rolling down his face, and he gave up even trying to stop them. Sam had been his charge, his companion, his backup. _Never a burden, Sam. Never._ He gulped more of the whiskey, trying to burn away the memory of their final conversation. _If you had listened, he wouldn’t have felt that he had no choice._ Guilt and anguish wracked his body as he closed his eyes, head dropped back against the wall as the tears kept flooding down.

Eventually his tears dried up, replaced by an utter exhaustion. He felt like he could have just stayed there forever, staring at the white bundle that was his brother. The idea of building a pyre, hauling Sam’s body out to it, and watching the rest of his family go up in flames turned his stomach. He toyed with the idea of just torching the whole cabin. Just walking out and throwing a Molotov cocktail through the window. _You owe it to him_ , he admonished himself. _He deserves to go out like a Hunter. Grow a pair already, Winchester. Take care of Sammy. That’s your job. Take care of your brother._

He drained the rest of the bottle and got unsteadily to his feet, dropping the empty bottle carelessly to smash on the floor. Fishing the axe out of the bag, he went outside and began the backbreaking work of building a proper pyre for his brother. He had always had help with this chore. Hunters tended to come together in times like this, helping the next of kin chop saplings and stack them and find dry kindling in the woods. Dean worked alone, the only sounds the thunk of the axe and the clunk of the wood as he stacked it. He took his time, building the pyre slowly and carefully, putting off the final act as long as he could. Inevitably though, the stack was built, the kindling was soaked with kerosene, and all was ready. Straightening up, Dean winced at his sore back and aching muscles. With a heavy heart he threw the axe on the ground and made his way back to the cabin.

Sam was still there, wrapped and bound and still. Dean bent down and slid his arms gently under his brother’s still form. Grunting with the effort he heaved up Sam’s dead weight, staggering to his feet. His back screamed from the strain, but he welcomed the pain, feeling like he deserved it. He struggled out the narrow door and down the stairs. With a final heave he got Sam up onto the pyre, straightening out the bundle tenderly. He felt wrung out and empty as he stared at the pile before him, unable to make himself move for the longest time.

Finally he bent down and picked up a stick, wrapping a bandana around the end and dousing it with kerosene. He flicked his lighter, lighting the torch on the third try. Standing with the torch in hand he hesitated, feeling like something needed to be said. With a shaking voice he began, “Sammy, you didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry I let you down. I wish I could take it all back. No matter what the… angels or demons or whoever have in mind for us, you’re my brother and I should have been there for you. I’m so sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry.” His voice faded to a whisper as the tears came again. Taking a deep breath he moved to torch the pyre.

Suddenly there was a loud gasp and coughing, and Dean was so startled he dropped the torch completely. _What the fuck?_ More gasping and coughing, and Dean realized it was coming from the wrapped bundle on the pyre. “Sam?” he breathed, slowly making his way closer to the white wrapped body. His eyes widened as he realized that the bundle was moving slightly, and a low moan registered in his ears. “Sammy?” he yelled, and in a moment he was rushing over to the pyre and tearing at the coverings over his brother’s face. And oh, God, it was a miracle when he got the cloth off Sam’s face and saw his brother’s eyes open and staring at him, wild and confused and alive.

“Dean? What… where am I?” Sam stammered, struggling against his bonds.

“Oh, God. Sam. Sammy.” Dean cupped his hands around his brother’s face, his green eyes full of wonder and relief. “Just… just hold on, let me get you…” He babbled as he fumbled for a knife, cutting the ropes and helping his brother unwind himself from the sheet. He grabbed Sam’s arms, pulling him off the pile of wood and helping him to his feet. Then he pulled Sam into a hug, like he would never let him go. “Jesus, I thought you were gone.”

Sam struggled out of his brother’s arms after a long minute. “But… I was gone. Why didn’t you…” Sam looked around. He had been about to ask why no one had burned his body when he registered that he had just been moments away from being cremated. “Lucifer. He must have found me when you dragged me out of the warding. Damn it!”

“Sam?” Dean said, alarmed at his brother’s tone.

Sam’s voice had a desperate edge to it. “Dean, I can’t let him have me. You should have burned me in the cabin or salted my body first or…”

“Sam!” Dean cried, shaking his brother’s arms to get his attention. Sam finally stopped struggling and looked down at his brother. Dean looked broken, pale and red-eyed and miserable. It shocked Sam into silence. Dean put his hand to the back of his brother’s neck and spoke with intensity. “You listen to me. Don’t you ever even think about doing that again, you hear me? Don’t you even dare.”

“Dean, I’ve got to fix this!” Sam protested, his voice rough with emotion.

“And we will,” Dean reassured him. “But we’re going to do it together. And you’re not checking out on me.”

“What happened to separate hemispheres?” Sam asked bitterly, looking off over Dean’s shoulder. “Thought you wanted me to stay away.”

“I was wrong, Sam,” Dean said quietly, willing his brother to look him in the eye. Sam turned, his hazel eyes fixed on Dean’s, searching for reassurance. “I need you, Sam. We keep each other human. Yeah, we’re each other’s Achilles’ heel. But we’re also each other’s greatest ally. I need you, man. Need you with me.”

Sam’s lip quivered, and he bit down hard enough to draw blood. “Do you mean it?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean answered. “I mean it.” He pulled Sam back into an embrace, and Sam gripped him tight, emotion rolling over him. Dean pulled back and met Sam’s eyes once more. “I know you’re scared, Sammy. I don’t know what’s coming either. But don’t make me do that again. Don’t make me have to see you dead again. Please. I’m begging you.”

Sam searched his brother’s face. He found no trace of the accusations and disappointment that had driven him into the Oklahoma woods. Dean’s eyes pleaded and forgave and needed him, and the pure, desperate love they radiated broke him at last. “I’m sorry,” Sam whispered.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was with him. Apocalypse, Lucifer, vessels, angels – none of that mattered in this moment. They were in it together, and Dean was damned if he was going to let anything pull them apart again. “Let’s get out of here, Sammy,” he said, and Sam nodded his assent. Gathering their things, they turned their back on the cabin, walking away together for one more day.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fan fiction. Feedback is most welcome. The characters are, alas, not mine. Contains some dialogue from The End.


End file.
